Remember the Night
by TheForkedSoul
Summary: Eldritch monsters of the night all lay dead at your feet. Their blood still stuck to your clothes. The moon's pale glow is waning as it hangs low in the sky. The night will be over soon. The first hints of sunlight are peaking over the horizon. Dawn comes for you now. Would you grant me a small kindness, good hunter? Do not remember the night.
1. Chapter 1

Steel cried as it cut through air. The crisp crack of gunfire echoed across the meadow. Flesh was torn like paper. Blood spilled like water.

Gehrman wielded his scythe with a deadly efficiency. Each movement cultivated through countless years of practice. The blade of his weapon carried decades of experience, which Gehrman made evident with every swing. The edge of his weapon gleamed in the pale moonlight, rending leather and flesh alike with his supernatural strength.

Ah, but his opponent was no charlatan either. Attacks that were not outright dodged barely even fazed the hunter, who powered on with an almost maniacal recklessness. The hunter wielded a sword, many sizes greater than he, each missed blow carving great chunks of earth from the meadow. The much smaller sliver sword allowing for a greater range of movement and attacking.

At first glance, they were evenly matched. A trained eye would tell a different story. Gehrman had his opponent on the ropes. A narrowly avoided strike had him off-balance, the soles of his boots slipping against the dew of the grass in his haste. Gehrman's eyes gleamed - it was over.

His opponent gasped as the blade sunk deep into his chest. Blood burst from him like a fat leech, before he expired with a sigh; his body fading to glittering light before disappearing completely. Gehrman lowered his weapons, allowing a few labored breaths through his nostrils. The power granted to him by the moon fled from his body.

What had once been clumsy strikes were now swift and deadly, with each attempt the hunter came closer to besting him. For now, he could rest...but only for a moment. How long had it been since he'd been challenged so thoroughly? The years were lost to the old caretaker. Buried under years of hunters that had come and gone through the dream.

His opponent fazed through the fog minutes later.

"Will you give it a rest, hunter?" Gehrman called. "You've done your part. You can put all of this behind you. Why won't you see reason?"

Pale-blue eyes glared back at him. Gehrman could just remembered a time where those eyes had been so afraid. When his shoulders had quivered like a frail leaf in the wind. Each step taken as if his very shadow would lash out at him. His eyes were a darker blue then.

Now his eyes were like iron. Powerful and broad shoulders accentuated his natural height well. His stance was relaxed, but firm and coiled; ready to move at a moments notice. The boy had been thrown to the fire, hammered like steel, and was all the stronger to show for it. The boy had grown to suit the hunters attire well. Gehrman felt bitter pride rolling through his chest.

"You've come far," Gehrman remarked softly. "I can scarcely recall when you were just a scared boy, barley able to look me in the eye."

The steel in the hunter's eyes softened, but never moved from Gehrman – they both knew his head would be swiftly removed if he dared. Either hunter could start the fight anew in but a moment. A flick of his wrist and his blade would slice him in twain. The same could be said for the man across from him. While Gehrman was far more skilled, his adversary made up for it with raw strength. A single blow could send him flying with shattered ribs if Gehrman was careless. Blades gleaming, muscles tensed, the two prepared for the fight to began. The pause would not last.

Yet, neither moved to attack.

"Why do you persist?" Gehrman asked. "Have you not had enough killing? Don't you want for it all to end?"

No words came in response. The veil over the hunter's mouth concealed his expression, if he had any. His eyes said enough to Gehrman, though. The wizened hunter could see all of the emotions flickering across his eyes, he was quite the honest soul. Determination. Resolve. Nothing like the hunters whose sanity had been ripped away by the hunt.

...Perhaps he wasn't as mad as Gehrman first thought?

No. No, he had to be mad. To desire anything but the waking world was...inconceivable.

"...I heard you," the hunter said at last, voice but a soft whisper. Gehrman felt the blood in his veins freeze.

"When you slept," he elaborated. "I heard you."

For a very long moment Gehrman held his breath, letting it out in a drawn out sigh – finally understanding why _._

The _fool._

"That's it then, is it? You want to _relieve_ me, of my duty?" Gehrman snorted, his eyes crinkling in mock humor. "It isn't madness that grips you then. You're in your right mind, it's a shame you're still so _stupid._ "

The hunter did not reply. Gehrman sighed.

"You are too kind for your own good."

"I owe you everything," he replied. "Let me do this thing for you. Awaken from this nightmare. I will take your place."

Gehrman chuckled, sweat dripping from his brow. "Our roles have reversed."

"I'm _serious,_ Gehrman. I wa-"

In one swift movement, Gehrman lunged forward. The hunter had expected more talk, so his step came out far too late to avoid the fist that smacked against his stomach with a horrible crack. This stunned him, leaving him unable to react as his weapons were batted out of his hands. A swift but powerful kick sent the hunter tumbling onto his back.

"I know you're serious," Gehrman whispered. "That's why I must do this."

Gehrman's scythe pierced through the padded and hardened leather of the hunters attire with ease. Carving through flesh and sinew, before exiting through his lower back into the earth. The hunter gasped in pain, gripping the pole of the scythe and pushing hard against him. Gehrman planted his boot against the head, the probing metal cutting deeper into his abdomen. Blood spilled from the wound, gushing and slipping down his sides. With pained grunts he tried to rise, to strike against Gehrman with his fists, but a protest came in the form of wicked sharp metal cutting deeper; sending lances of agony through him.

"Go, hunter." Gehrman chided to him. "To the light. To the sunrise."

Blood rose up from his throat, the coppery bite lingered on his tongue. "N-No! I refuse!"

Another sad sigh worked itself up from Gehrman's lips. His boot came down again, pushing the scythe down into the hunter to the hilt. A low cry of pain sounded as Gehrman stomped once again, effectively pinning the hunter to the floor; before settling beside him - outside of arms reach, in a seated position.

"Then we will wait here until you change your mind."

"I w-will not," the hunter gasped. Darkness was encroaching from the edge of his vision, now. The sensation of cold metal fading away. Even the pale light of the moon was fading away. Another moment and the dream would take him. Just a few seconds more and he wou-

Then, something pierced his leg and the sensations began anew. A fresh scream ripped from his throat, before his bewildered eyes looked towards his legs – where the piercing occurred.

An empty blood vial dropped from Gehrman's hand.

"You will," Gehrman whispered, taking another vial from the hunters pouch. Their eyes met, and the hunter saw a great deal within his mentors stare. His eyes were crinkled, with wrinkles enclosing each socket. In them he saw something he'd never seen from the old man. Resolve. Determination. Yet, there was such sorrow in them. The resolve was bitter. The determination was desperate. Emotions the hunter had never seen on the old man's face.

A cycle began. The blade digging into his stomach would teeter him to the edge of death, and before it's icy embrace could take him – Gehrman would drag him back with a blood vial. It was painful, of course; but compared to the hazardous poison birthed from the starved beast? How his ribs cracked and shattered when the cleric beast smashed him against stone? Gnashing teeth and claws rending his flesh apart like wet paper? The cacophony of voices the winter lanterns imbued to his mind?

This, he could endure.

"So you'll just grit your teeth and bow your head, then?" Gehrman scoffed. "Of course you will. That's how you've always been."

The hunter felt a hand reach into his pouch, grasping at the contents within.

"Someone like you would need a bit more... _convincing._ "

A thick smelly substance was poured onto him, soaking deep into his clothes. It's scent was familiar to the hunter.

"This is your last chance. Surrender yourself to the waking."

He struggled feebly against the blade in response. Gehrman let his head hang low. Muttering something unintelligible to the hunter.

The sound was crisp, instant. The hunter recognized the sound at once – he'd used the tool many times, himself.

Fire paper.

"Daytime comes, hunter. As it has for so many others, let the light guide you."

Gehrman let the paper fall from his hands.

For the first few seconds, the hunter would liken it to the heat of a campfire. A distant warmth that made him feel safe, protected.

Then it spread to his skin.

It wasn't the first time he'd been set on fire, he'd even _died_ to the flame before. In those times, he was able to put himself out, or darkness came and took him back to the dream rather quickly. Here, each movement sent even more pain coursing along his veins. Yet he _had_ to move, his primal mind begged him to roll about and tend to the flames licking at his skin.

A wretched scream loosed from the hunters lips, as the fire scorched skin and bone. The agony was ceaseless, each nerve screaming at him – each one yelling the same message.

Pain. Indescribable, inescapable pain.

After what felt like an eternity, the fire burnt away his nerves. The hunter could _feel_ the fire charring him, but it was dull and muted. The dream called to him, gathering him up in it's embrace. Ready to whisk him away from _this._

Then something struck him in the leg, and fresh pain wracked his form. Patches of flesh that had blackened and burned were renewed. Nerves that had singed shut connected, the flames embracing them at once. The sweltering heat charring it just as easily. Any sense of rational thought disappeared behind a veil of agony.

Gehrman dropped an empty blood vial. His hands sporting similar burns, teeth grit in pain.

"Do you see it now!?" Gehrman declared. The hunter could no longer see. His eyelids had been burnt shut. "Daytime comes, hunter! Embrace it! Succumb!"

Another blood vial. Renewed agony.

"Are you some kind of masochist!? Do you _enjoy_ this!?"

Gehrman cracked another oil jar over him. The flame covering him swelled. Another scream rolled from his lips as the heat boiled his blood.

"Go to it! It calls for you!"

Two blood vials this time.

His body convulsed, Gehrman's scythe tearing into him with each fitful movement.

Another vial.

"Damn you," Gehrman hissed. "I _chose_ this. You understand? I am here because _I_ wanted to be here."

Another vial.

"You, though? This isn't what you chose. You didn't contract yourself to _this._ You've fulfilled your end of the bargain. The hunt is over for you. So just _wake up already!_ " Gehrman's fist cracked against the hunters cheek. Gehrman hissed as the flames kissed his knuckles.

The flames began to fade, as was the nature of fire paper. Even with his body as fuel it would not last forever. The hunter strained, the flesh of his eyelids protesting as he forced them open. The heat had not spared his vision as darkness greeted him even when he was certain he'd torn his eyes free. It wasn't important. Once he died his vision would be restored. His body protested as he attempted to rise, the scythe buried in his gut reminding him he was still very pinned.

Gehrman had run out of blood vials. Death would come for him, soon. Just a little longer...

The hunter sagged in exhaustion. The fire had faded to cinders, leaving his nerves too singed to feel what was, without a doubt, excruciating pain.

"Still kicking, then?" Gehrman asked. His tone was more subdued, less frantic. The hunter moved his head in the direction of the noise. The hunter didn't – _couldn't_ reply. His lips had seared shut. A silence persisted between the two. The hunter was waiting to die, he would soon as Gehrman had no more blood vials. Gehrman himself was at a loss. Even fire hadn't been enough to send the hunter to the waking. If this sort of suffering would not do, what possibly could?

A treacherous thought sparked in the mind of the first hunter. The boy was a slave to his emotions. They tethered him even now, dragging him through pain like a cockroach.

They would set him free.

"Would Eileen have wanted this for you?" Gehrman asked. The hunter's gasping breaths stopped, but not because he had perished.

"Eileen woke from the dream, and for good reason. She saw that the night has no end, otherwise. Why won't you? _"_ Gehrman wracked his head for the many names the boy had shared with him. They were plentiful. _"_ Your woman of the night? Arianna, was it? She certainly cared enough about you, to give you her blood. Would she look kindly upon what you seek? Iosefka? That woman from the clinic, if I remember right. She cared for you, as well. Was this the fate she envisioned for her _noble_ hunter?"

Gehrman paused, muttering a silent apology to the boy.

"What of Gascoigne's girls?"

" _S-Stop_ ," The hunter croaked, tearing his lips apart to speak.

"Stop?" Gehrman echoed. "Oh, no. It doesn't stop. It never stops. Don't you see? You don't even know what you're getting into, do you?"

Gehrman laughed, then. A crazed, unhinged laugh that shook his tall frame.

"Let me tell you a story."

His laughter died to chuckles. "It is paradise, at first. The peace of residing among the leaves of the garden. The sweet, gentle scent of the flowers blooming. The view is astounding - _inspiring._ The moon gleams so _beautifully_ against the night sky. Many hunters will come and go; relying on your guidance to see them through the night. Your insight will prove invaluable. The hunter will succeed in their hunt, and choose to awaken - one way or another. For a many glorious years, you'll happily call this place your home." Gehrman's voice crept uncomfortably close to the hunters ear. "It is a gradual change. One day you go from loving the crinkling of the leaves, to only liking them. Wait long enough, and _wait_ you will, and the noise will be like the grinding of rusty gears. The sweet smell of flowers will cause bile to rise from your throat."

"You'll vacate the gardens. All but barricade yourself in the workshop. Immerse yourself in the plethora of books that have been collected over the years. Some written in dialects long lost to us; taking your time to dissect languages you've not the faintest idea of. Perhaps you'll even sit down and write a book or two of your own. You'll take to your illustrations though, won't you? Hone your skills, whatever _skill_ that is, to even greater heights. Anything to alleviate the maddening monotony."

Gehrman laughed giddily, softly this time. As if he were sharing an intimate secret. His breath passed along the hunters charred ear. "Even this, is not the worst of it. No. At last you'll think of your friends, your family. Their faces so _clear_ and _vivid_ in your mind. Their voices can still be formed in your thoughts with startling clarity. Their laughter still ringing in your ears. Jokes and quips, moments that bring a smile to your face."

"Then, one day, you forget." Gehrman's voice broke, his throat not accustom to such a lengthy speech. His eyes gazed through the clouds at the moon.

"You forget them one day at a time, not even realizing they are being _buried_ under the endless leaves and book pages. You'll realize that you cannot recall the lines of their faces. The color of their eyes - their _hair_ , all of it will be lost to you. With terrifying haste you'll construct a visage of their person, in a desperate attempt to remember what they look like. A drawing." Gehrman cast his gaze to the workshop. "A doll. You will scream into the wind until your throat bleeds. Beg and plead to be freed, if only to see their faces once more. When no one responds, you'll call for them. Soon enough you will realize that no one is coming, for you have been left behind long ago."

"The moon is no longer so beautiful, then."

Silence persisted between the two, until the hunter felt Gehrman take his charred cheeks into his hands.

" _Please,"_ Gehrman pleaded. "Do not tread my path. This dream is a curse; _m_ _y_ curse - not yours. You don't want this."

A few wet droplets stung the hunters face.

"Be freed from the night."

Then, the hunter finally expired with a sigh.

Gehrman felt his charges presence vacate the dream moments later. Tears fell from Gehrman's face, as he wept in equal parts joy and sorrow. What he'd done to the boy...he would hate him forever - or perhaps he wouldn't? He'd always been kinder than the average Yharnamite.

Gehrman wished he would. That he would spend the rest of his days spitting on his memory. If only to soften the guilt clutching his heart. He'd set the poor sod on _fire._

His hunter had escaped the dream. The bumbling, clumsy fool had managed to escape the horrors of the night. He would be free from all of _this._ That was enough.

"Farewell, my keen hunter. Fear the blood."

Jaune Arc awoke with his back to a tree. His body felt stiff and sore. Even as his eyes blinked away the exhaustion, the lethargy persisted in his limbs. Blearily glancing down at his lap, Jaune was met with the comforting sight of his gun along with his sword and it's cumbersome 'sheathe'.

The calm did not last as he took in his surroundings. His heart began to race, panic surging through his veins. Where was he? What had happened? Gehrman -

Dark shadows with red eyes peaked from the shadows between the trees. Creatures startlingly familiar, yet stark differences poured from the dark. Some he recognized, the werewolves and _pigs_ were largely the same - sans the ivory armor adorning their limbs.

His panic ceased while his hands steadied. This. This was familiar. Beasts were coming. Their stink lingered in the air, a putrid mix of blood and rot. Thick enough to drag the air itself down with their sickness. His body rose unceremoniously, fixing his blade in a languid grip. The small part of his mind that remarked on the greater size of the beasts was squashed and stuffed. Who cared how large they were?

They would die all the same.

The beasts charge was met with fluid strikes. Each slash tore through unearthly flesh. A spread of quicksilver buckshot sent a beast reeling, only for it's insides to splatter on the floor moments later. Claws tore through solid chunks of earth only narrowly missing their intended target. A brief surfaced as the horde lessened to a mere two beasts. More were coming, his ears heard their wails and howls.

A metallic click whispered through the air as Jaune slipped the large sheathe onto his back, the smaller sword detaching a beasts head a moment later. His blade struck much faster this way, allowing for him to dispatch singular foes with greater ease. Silver shone in the night, naught but a whistle as it rent the flesh of beasts. The horde thickened, and the sword was my made large once again. Limbs were severed. Beasts were slain. The hunt was a familiar thing, to Jaune. It's embrace was heady and greedy. Intoxicating. Each beast dead at his feet only took him higher into the ecstasy. Just a little more...a few more...

Then, as suddenly as it began, it ceased. No more shadowy beasts slinked from the dark. A score of corpses lay at his feet. Jaune watched with wild eyes as the beasts began to dissolve. The white armor ground to dust. Bodies fading to black specks. Even their pungent, shadowy blood faded from the cloth of his attire. Convenient. Now, to figure out where he wa-

Something shone from his peripheral vision. His eyes sought out the source.

Light peaked above the horizon of the forest. Slinking through the canopy, bathing Jaune in a warmth he had long forgotten. In all it's glory, dawn had finally come.

No tears came. Even as he felt the shine of the sun sting his eyes, Jaune could not tear his eyes away. Even as Gehrman's pained visage flashed in his minds eye. The painted face of the doll, serene expression etched in, with a single tear rolling down her cheek. How ironic that Jaune couldn't muster a single tear for them, couldn't even move his gaze from the glowing orb. Why should he? Gehrman had sacrificed who knows how many more years of suffering so he could see this.

In the face of all he had endured? Of what others had sacrificed?

Jaune found the glow lacking.

His head clunked against the tree as a tired sigh escaped his lips. A bitter feeling wormed it's way into his chest. One could not even escape beasts under the light of the morning sun. Jaune glared at the offending object, as if his spite would snuff it out. How useless. All of that fighting. All of that suffering - all for naught.

Ah, but he had known this, hadn't he? Eileen stopped dreaming long ago, and look at how things ended for her. The end to dreams meant nothing. There was no escape.

Jaune watched the sun rise until it gleamed from high in the sky, above the canopy and out of his vision. It must have been hours, even though it had only felt like minutes.

The sound of moving foliage drew his attention away from the sun. His despondent gaze fell to the source of the noise. More beasts? Jaune's hand moved for his weapons but stopped short, before retracting completely.

What was the point? There would always be more beasts.

Jaune had no answer. He closed his eyes.

A few moments passed. No claws tore at his side. No maw closed around his throat.

No. A voice called to him. Soft yet loud. Feminine.

"Hello?" Pyrrha Nikos hesitantly called. "I...I don't think this is the _time_ or _place_ for a nap."


	2. Chapter 2

_A blade flashed through the air. It was clumsy. Weak. As if he were afraid of hurting the air he struck. Gehrman would be hard-pressed to imagine the strike cutting through wet paper._

 _He was getting better. Good._

" _Enough!" Gehrman yelled. The boy shrieked in fright, his weak and flimsy grip failing. Gehrman watched in disdain as the sword clattered to the ground; before rounding his gaze on the boy's sheepish expression._

 _Gehrman simply stared at him. The boy shrank into himself. Trying to hide from his eyes._

 _This one would not survive the hunt. There was no doubt in Gehrman's mind. Not as he was. The beasts would make short work of him. Dream or not, he would succumb to them. The boy knew it, too. That he would suffer the same fate time and time again if he did not change. That death would drive him to insanity._

 _It was smart of him to come to Gehrman. It was doubly kind that the old man had agreed to teach him. Gehrman hadn't shouldered a student in many years. Not since Maria._

 _Why had he? After Maria, it almost felt as he were spitting on her memory, teaching this boy. She was to be his best, and last. Why would he sully that legacy with this boy?_

 _Gehrman had asked himself that very question many times over, watching his dismal efforts. Perhaps he pitied him? Gehrman had thought his pity long dead, buried under his years of anguish. Had this been the time of his workshop, Gehrman would have dismissed him the moment he'd dropped his sword. What sort of hunter couldn't even hold a weapon properly?_

 _Gehrman stared into his eyes, looking for an answer. When none came he sank back into his wheelchair._

" _That was better," Gehrman admitted. The boy almost preened under the praise._

" _For a moment there, you almost looked like an initiate."_

 _The boy deflated like a balloon, sighing bitterly in defeat._

" _Your footwork is the problem." Gehrman said, answering his unspoken question. "It almost made me ill, honestly. You're not a tree. Move your feet."_

 _He groaned, "It's not that simple."_

 _Gehrman scoffed. "What? Do they stop listening once you've a blade in hand? Just do what comes naturally, for goodness sake."_

" _It doesn't come 'naturally' to everyone, you know." The boy answered. "Some of us have to see what you're talking about before we can understand, and well…." he trailed off awkwardly._

 _Gehrman sighed. His wheelchair. A reminder of his burden, of the shackles binding him here. There was no weight. Not now. If he tried to rise from the chair, thou-_

 _It's invisible tendrils licked and pulled at the back of his head, his arms, his legs. At once, his limbs felt heavy – as if were truly infirm. Like his blood had been replaced with lead, his bones with heavy rocks._

 _Gehrman relaxed into the seat. The pulling stopped._

" _You think this wheelchair is for show?" Gehrman quipped, short of breath. "I'm much too old to prance about with you."_

 _The boy grunted, a frown spreading across his face as he adopted a thinking position._

 _Just go fight the beasts, Gehrman thought. Fight and die. Learn and die. Like every single other before you. These headstones mark your predecessors, all of whom managed without. Why do you think you deserve this treatment, this training?_

" _Alright," the boy declared, planting himself on the ground a few paces from Gehrman. "Can we go over it once more? If I hear it just one more time, I think I'll comprehend it."_

 _The boy's eyes focused on him in a way Gehrman recognized. It was the same way a young girl had stared at him long, long ago. When her teacher mocked her for standing like a tree when she struck with her saber. After her family had been taken by beasts. She'd given him that exact stare._

 _Perhaps that stare was why? Honesty always was his weakness._

 _The boy struggled to learn from him. It made sense. Even the most adept of his initiates had needed sparring partners to work the kinks out of their technique. The presence would not let him leave his chair, though, so what was he to do?_

 _Ah, perhaps…yes, she would still be kicking. No mere beast would take her._

" _In the waking world," Gehrman said. "There is a women garbed like a crow. Eileen. Pester her like you pester me, and she might just show you a thing or two."_

 _The boy sprang to his feet, "You're certain?!"_

 _Gehrman chuckled, "You'll have to be very convincin-"_

Jaune was snapped from his reverie as an errant tree branch struck his face.

"Oh! I'm sorry!" The girl with hair like fire blurted. "Are you okay?"

He didn't mean to leave him. He was so... _so_ certain he'd chosen the dream. That he'd decided to return. It was his goal. The only reason he had to continue. Fire? Steel? As if that alone could break him. For his teacher, he would have endured. It was his destiny. He'd pursued it with such reckless abandon. Slaved away against the night and it's creatures if only to see _relief_ in his teachers eyes.

Yet here he was. The evidence of his failure hanging high in the sky, shining it's blinding light down into his eyes.

Jaune nodded back at her.

* * *

Pyrrha Nikos wasn't sure what to make of her partner.

The fact that he hadn't asked for her autograph upon seeing her face already put him leagues above the other students she'd interacted with. Who didn't know of the _great_ Pyrrha Nikos? Their eyes would light with recognition, excitement spread across their expression. Pyrrha could almost _see_ the moment she stopped being a person. The moment she became a dream, some shining star beyond a simple _conversation_.

She thought she'd escaped that by coming to Vale. How wrong she was.

Vale was exactly the same. It's people, exactly the same. She'd not had a normal interaction with a single person since she'd arrived at Beacon. Not during the assembly, nor in the time leading up to initiation. She was still hounded by her reputation.

At first, she though him exactly the same as everyone else. The surprise in his eyes betrayed him.

Swallowing her bitterness, she told him her name. She was prepared for him to cry in delight. Ecstatic that he'd gotten the _champion_ as his partner.

Except, he didn't do any of that.

Instead he blinked and told her his name – Jaune Arc.

"Do you...know who I am?"

"...Should I?"

She liked that name. Jaune. Short and sweet.

Yet, even Pyrrha could see that something was strange about him. The dark clothing that covered every inch of his skin. Even a small piece of cloth concealed his mouth from the world; leaving his pale-blue eyes the only visible part of his face. Odd, as far as huntsmen went.

Pyrrha could understand the need for silence while walking through a forest infested with grimm, she really could, but he'd given her his name and mysteriously became mute. Only communicating in short nods and gestures. The silence was beginning to make her nervous.

Jaune was very tired.

Why was he following her? He had no reason too, really. Other than she'd asked him too. Declared them partners and proclaimed they were to head north, looking for old relics in some dilapidated temple.

Why had he even bothered to get up? What as the point? He had failed. His connection to the dream was severed. The night would not end for Gehrman. Someone may free him eventually, but Jaune would never know. It would never be a certainty.

So again, why had he even bothered to follow her?

He was...tired.

"You said something about an…initiation?" he asked from behind her. She turned towards him, remembering at once just how tall he was. "What initiation?"

Huh?

"The initiation…for hunters attending Beacon?" Pyrrha responded. Did he hit his head after he'd been launched from the cliff? That would explain a great deal. The confusion in his eyes when she saw him. His disorientation, even his lack of speech. Pyrrha let her eyes roam over his form, looking for injuries.

Jaune eyed her inquisitively as she inspected him whilst he simultaneously digested her words. An initiation for hunters?

Gehrman's workshop disbanded long ago, and Jaune saw no badge adorning her form. Was she lying to him? Luring him to her comrades, hoping to nick his trinkets and valuables? Jaune hadn't bothered to get rid of all the coins he'd found, seeing as how they sold for hardly any echoes, so he did have quite a few on his person…

No. She didn't have the look of a bandit about her. What sort of bandit apologized to someone, ever?

Then...could she be speaking of a new school? A new sort of hunter? She was not dressed like any sort of hunter Jaune had seen before. She left much of skin exposed – something Jaune found rather scandalous _._ No hunter would dare be caught so unarmored against the beastly threat. She had rather lovely legs, though; with a sweet scent to boot. Like herbs and...flowers? A stark difference to the perfumes and incense Jaune was used too.

Suddenly thankful for the mask covering his cheeks, Jaune bade to answer her.

"Ah." Jaune said, "For hunters. I understand."

She did not respond. Her eyes were so focused, as if she were trying to stare through him. What was she looking for?

Suddenly, he heard the would-be-huntress softly gasp. Jaune tracked her stare to a small laceration on his calf. Six inches, perhaps? Maybe an inch or so deep? The bleeding had already stopped, but the wound was open and gaping. Foolish of him to think he'd escaped that encounter with beasts unscathed. Nothing a blood vial couldn't fi-

Ah. That's right. Gehrman used them all.

"Why didn't your aura protect you?" Pyrrha asked with urgency in her voice, turning his body with strength belying her form to inspect his wound.

"My what?" Jaune responded, pulling himself from her.

"You...don't know what aura is?" Pyrrha asked, too dumbfounded to be aggrieved as he pulled away. A huntsmen that didn't know of aura? Unheard of.

Jaune blinked at her.

"Bears our burdens? Shields our hearts?"

"That's...poetic?" Jaune hazarded.

"What? No, it's -" Pyrrha struggled for words. "It's more than that. Aura is the manifestation of our soul. It bears our burdens an-"

"I got that bit," Jaune interrupted. "What does it _do?_ "

"It protects you from harm," Pyrrha answered. "Heals you when you're injured. You...really don't know what it is?"

"Huh..." Jaune hummed. "Sounds useful."

A huntsmen that hadn't unlocked his aura. The evidence was right before her but Pyrrha could hardly believe it. How had he managed the landing with only a scrape to show for it? Beyond any shadow of a doubt, a fall from those cliffs should have killed him.

Never mind how he'd survived the cliff's, how had he gotten into the school at _all?_ Surely a place like Beacon would have checked for such a universal standard before flinging them from cliffs? For such a base requirement?

Unless...he hadn't really _gotten_ into the school at all.

It wasn't unheard of, students cheating their way into huntsmen academies. Upstarts with illusions of grandeur, usually, but the reasons were plentiful. Criminals backgrounds. Teenagers who've parents have forbade them from attending. Though, that didn't explain how he'd survived the launch. Nor why he hadn't known of the initiation at all.

Pyrrha regarded him in a new light. She ought to get him safely out of the forest, and report him to the headmaster – for his own good. Huntsmen without training never lasted. It was practically a death sentence for him. She would need to find a new partne-

She remembered then, how the girl with white hair had stared at her like a piece of meat. How the other students had avoided her during the assembly. The defeated looks of opponents in her tournaments. As if she were on some sort of lone statue, beyond all of them.

She was sick of it.

It...it would be fine, right? She would protect him. Though...if that wasn't enough...

"Here," Pyrrha declared after a short pause. "Let me unlock it for you."

Pyrrha glanced at him, silently asking for permission.

Should he give it? Jaune was familiar with rituals. In his, admittedly limited, experience they did not go well for the recipients. His first instinct was to deny her.

However...that particular instance had remarkably different circumstances. She did not have an umbilical chord, for starters. Nor was her intent to convene with a great one. Unlocking his...aura – whatever that was. It didn't sound terribly mad. The shield didn't particularly enthuse him, but the healing?

He _was_ out of blood vials…

Placing a hand on his shoulder, the other reaching to touch his forehead. Closing her eyes, she silently hoped she wasn't breaching his privacy. Before beginning to recite the words her father had spoken to her, when he'd unlocked her aura.

"For it is in passing that we achieve immortality. Through this, we become a paragon of virtue and glory to rise above all, infinite in distance and unbound by death. I release your soul, and by my shoulder protect the-"

Something was wrong.

A great pressure descended down on the back of Pyrrha's head. For a moment she was sure she'd been struck, then the pain pulsed from a singular point to the rest of her skull. Again, and again it pulsed. Each wave worse than the last. The pain kept her eyes shut tight. The outside world faded to black. All she became aware of was the pounding of her skull.

 _Drip-drip_

Water?

Pyrrha fought to open her eyes. Something compelling her – _pulling_ her to see.

What? What was she meant to see?

Fighting through another wave of pain, she struggled against an unseen weight. The feeling was comparable to the time she'd attempted to lift a semi-truck with her semblance. It's weight was absolute. Even so, she had to see. No matter what, she _needed_ to witness this.

Against all odds, Pyrrha gave one last push and tore her eyelids open.

She saw it.

 _Drip-drip_

It had it's hands - no, tentacles? It's _appendages_ curled around him. Reaching. Grasping. Caressing. Where did it began? Better yet, where did it end _?_ It stared at her – through her. Was it large? Small? She needed to look closer, _deeper._ Then she would see. Understand. Just a little closer and she would _see -_

Pyrrha was overcome with the urge to leave. Leave, now! Away, she must go away!

Light exploded from the peripheral of her vision as she was blown backwards, landing on her rear before falling completely onto her back.

A voice called to her. It was dull and muted, as if a layer of water was between herself and the speaker. It grew louder, though. Until it was as if someone were yelling directly into her eardrum. Just when she thought the voice would shatter her skull, it stopped. Pyrrha became aware of the smell of earth, the sensation of grass tickling her bare skin.

She opened her eyes a second time. Jaune had fallen to his knees, one hand massaging his temple while the other gripped the earth to steady himself. She was prone, on her side, looking to him.

What had happened? She felt...light, as if she were floating in water.

"What…What did you do?" Jaune ground out angrily.

"I..." Pyrrha struggled to recall. She'd placed her hands on him, began reciting the words, then...nothing. Blank. She couldn't remember a thing. She'd meant to unlock his aura...had she done it wrong?

No. His form glistened with pale light. The cut on his calf had already mended itself. It had worked.

So what was that?

Jaune followed her gaze to his calf.

"It...it healed?" he whispered, amazed.

"Yes," Pyrrha answered. "Your aura healed it."

Pyrrha spent a moment looking at him. Normally, when a person unlocked their aura the change was small, negligible – until they learned to control and harness it properly. It took months of rigorous training to use it properly.

For Jaune to exude such light mere moments after it being unlocked…

"Incredible..." Pyrrha whispered in awe. Jaune sent a questioning at her, dumbfounded but curious.

"Your aura – you have quite a lot." Quite a lot. As if that did it justice. It was almost absurd, how much he had. The color was rather beautiful, too. White with a smidgen of blue.

His aura was unlocked. She'd done everything right. Just as her father had done for her.

So why had they both passed out? Why couldn't she remember what had happened?

What was this unease she felt?

Jaune curled and unfurled his fists, staring at the light that covered him. Marveling at it's iridescence.

It felt as if he'd shaken cobwebs from his body he never knew he had. His heart pumped with such vigor, it's drumming threatening to burst from his chest. Had he always been so light? The hunters attire was never heavy to begin with, but it's burden was not negligible. Now it was as if he wore nothing at all. Even the ever cumbersome heft of his blade had faded to mere pocket weight. With this, slaying beasts would be but a trifle.

Despite all this, a pervasive exhaustion pulled at him. Sinking deep into his frame. This...it changed nothing. He'd still failed.

Why should he care?

Still, he had no answer.

A crack echoed throughout the forest. Jaune recognized the sound. Gunfire.

"Gunfire," Pyrrha echoed his thoughts. She drew her weaponry. A sword and shield. "Seems our comrades have encountered some grimm. We should hurry."

She cast a glance a wayward glance at him.

"Can you fight?"

A short laugh escaped him. He couldn't help it. The question was innocent, so he took no offense to it. She'd just met him. How could she know?

Could he fight?

Once upon a time he couldn't. His feet tripped over nothing, and he fell into the waiting maws of beast and hunter alike. When he was too weak to use the second form of his sword. When his hands shook and trembled at the sight of a mere scourge beast.

Those days were long gone.

Jaune wordlessly tore his sword from it's sheathe. The sun gleamed off the polished silver beautifully. He'd slain those beasts during the night, hadn't he? This would be his blades first excursion underneath the light of day. Jaune couldn't find the heart to be excited.

Once, grasping his blade filled him heat. Ardor. Each slain beast was another victory. Each kill wrought a greater lust for the next battle, for the next victory against the night.

Now?

Exhaustion permeated through his skin. His blade was heavy in his hand. The blood in his veins, cold.

Why did he even care?

* * *

"This is Yang – she's my older sister! Oh, and the grumpy looking one is Weiss, my partner."

"Hey!"

"I'm just joking!" She replied. "Well... _mostly_ joking..."

Weiss grumbled indignantly.

"That leaves Blake. She doesn't talk much. She's nice too, though."

"A pleasure to meet all of you," Pyrrha smiled. "I'm -"

"Pyrrha Nikos," Yang answered. "...We've all heard of you."

Pyrrha sighed, but retained her smile. "...And this is Nora and Ren."

"Greetings."

"Hello!"

Everyone's attention was stolen by a pitiful groan.

"Ah," Pyrrha said. "This is Jaune, my partner – who is somewhat...indisposed, at the moment."

Jaune had his weight leaned fully against his seat, both hands clutching the edge of it as though his life depended on it. His feet were making a valiant effort to ingrain themselves deeply as possible into the metal flooring. With each rock and shake of the bullhead, another tortured groan escaped his lips.

Not from pain. The battle had been trivial. This aura...it was a shield, as well. Glancing blows were shirked away, and while the impact struck him, it saved him from being impaled by the absurdly large bird's pinions. His blade was incredibly light, even in it's second form. Only a few superficial bruises dotted his forearms, where he'd blocked the birds feathers.

No, this was much worse.

Dreadful motion sickness.

"He's uh...not much of a flier, is he?" Ruby remarked.

Another garbled groan answered her.

"Renny, I think Jauney's gonna hurl."

"Perhaps you should give him a bit of space, then?"

Nora had been been talking his ear off ever since this...contraption took to the sky. An endless babble of what she'd had for breakfast, how much she'd like to have it for dinner, how Ren ought to cook it for herself and their new friends. The most wonderful dream she had last night which involved mountains of pancakes and castles, consequently made _of_ pancakes.

It was almost enough to distract him from the fact they were soaring through the sky on a mechanical death-trap.

"Jaune?" Pyrrha said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright?"

He would be, if this infernal machine would stop rumbling! Perhaps he should have resisted more?

"He...isn't looking so hot," the girl with wild blonde hair stated. "Maybe we should have let him walk?"

A sudden rush from his stomach silenced any reply Jaune might have had. Jaune, intimately aware of what was coming, quickly removed his cloth mask.

"I knew it Ren! I'm a psychic!"

"Oh gross gross gross!"

"It's on my shoes!"

Once the bullhead landed, Jaune all but fell out of it onto the landing pad. Quickly stumbling over to what looked to be a waste bin, before more bile spilled from his lips..

A chorus of disgusted noises sounded from behind him. Sod off. This was evidence that men were not meant to take flight.

A ship that soared through the air?! How it rocked and churned! Almost as much as his stomach churned. He knew he shouldn't have boarded. It spelt disaster from the moment it had nosily descended near that temple.

Just where had he ended up? No such machine existed in Yharnam.

Red hair swayed from his peripheral, whilst a hand gently pat his upper back. Jaune would be lying if he said the act did not give him some measure of comfort.

"My thanks," he gasped as the nausea faded.

Pyrrha smiled at him, "Of cour-"

"You," A stern voice called from behind him. Jaune turned towards the source.

A woman stood there. With shoulder length blonde hair, and piercing green eyes. Her glare was fixated on him, the look fierce enough to make Jaune wary. A quick glance revealed no weaponry on her person, save for a...crop for horse riding? Strange. Then again, what hadn't be strange as of yet?

"Come with me. The headmaster would speak with you."

"Ah, but Miss Goodwitch." Pyrrha interjected nervously. "The team naming ceremony is in a few short hours-"

"This matter is not up for debate, Miss Nikos," she bit, her gaze silencing any protest before Pyrrha could even mount them.

"You will come with me."

What should he do? His immediate instinct was to fight. To fight and run. The way this woman glared at him, there was no doubt she held animosity for him.

Though...could he fight his way out of here? He was not familiar with this school. How many winding paths would he have to fight through? How many hunters? Jaune held no doubts of his strength, but after witnessing what these fellows were capable of…

"Very well," Jaune finally answered. "Lead the way."

Pyrrha watched anxiously as her partner was led away.

"Ooh..." Nora cooed. "Jauney's in trouble."

"Nora," Ren admonished.

"Am I wrong?"

"…It's not right to assume."

They knew, Pyrrha thought. The staff. Of course they knew he wasn't here legally. How could they not? Pyrrha had given Jaune too much credit, and the Beacon staff too little. It was only ever a matter of time.

Still, they had found him out so _quickly._ Before she could formulate any sort of idea. Any sort of plan. He didn't fight like someone who had to cheat their way into Beacon. While Pyrrha had initially doubted his skills, he'd proven himself thrice over with their battle against the death stalker. He was an experienced and trained huntsmen.

That being said, why didn't he just apply normally? Someone of his skill would have little difficulty passing the tests.

So why?

"Don't look so worried!" Nora exclaimed. "I was just joking, Pyrrha. I'm sure he'll be fine."

Pyrrha didn't agree. Not one bit.

* * *

"Have a seat, Mr. Arc."

Jaune promptly sat, looking at the man across the table. Long hair swept to one side, gray – yet his skin was smooth, young. Neutral brown eyes. Jaune found his stare unnerving. The two sat in silence.

Finally the man spoke. "Jaune Arc. Do you remember what I said at yesterdays assembly?"

Jaune made no motion to speak. An assembly? His throat felt dry, for some reason. The air tingled his skin. The sheer pressure this man emanated made it difficult to swallow. It was the same sort of fear he'd felt when facing Gehrman in battle, the first time. Their eyes were frighteningly similar.

"No. I thought not. You were not _at_ yesterdays assembly, were you?"

Jaune shook his head.

"Of course, this is no surprise to me. Your honest is appreciated though. This is my school, you know? I am Ozpin. Headmaster of this prestigious academy. I personally review most, if not all, applications to my school. Did you know that?"

Jaune nodded despite the fact he certainly hadn't known that. Suddenly, the option of running and fighting sounded much more appealing.

"Then you also must know that I find your face and name unfamiliar. I wonder why that is?"

Jaune said nothing.

"Not willing to speak? You were so honest, just a moment ago. I encourage you to _remember_ that honesty."

Again, Jaune said nothing.

He motioned to his left. "Come, look at this Jaune Arc."

Ozpin motioned towards a screen of some sorts. Jaune hadn't seen it's like before. The screen showcased a portion of the Emerald Forest. A clearing. For a full minute, Jaune watched. It was a peaceful portion of the forest. The visible canopy swayed gently, dancing along with the wind.

Then, the camera rapidly flickered between static and the video before settling on static. The static did not last long, perhaps five seconds. When the feed reconnected, Jaune's figure was set against a tree, set in a fitful slumber. A few moments later, he awoke – and Jaune remembered intimately what came next.

"Very interesting, indeed. Quite the mystery. It looks as though you appear out of thin air. Wouldn't you agree?"

Jaune nodded.

Ozpin beset him with a stare. "Tell me, where are you _from,_ Jaune Arc?"

"Yharnam," Jaune answered quickly without hesitation.

"I've quite a firm grasp of geography, Mr Arc, and that name means nothing to me. I suggest you try again. With honesty, and your imminent future in mind."

Honest confusion and befuddlement spread throughout his mind. What? This man, this terrifying headmaster of a school of hunters, hadn't heard of the miracle city? Where the disabled were made able? The terminally ill made well?

This man hadn't heard of Yharnam?

A new sort of fear, icy and cold, spread throughout his bones. The kind that he'd ignored, when people fired from a gun many times without reloading. Or hurled small parcels in rapid succession, each generating a powerful explosion. The kind of fear he ignored again, when a great metal bird descended from the heavens.

"I see this is quite the frightening prospect for you," Ozpin said, the pressure emanating from him lessening.

"It..." Jaune swallowed thickly. "It is, sir."

"Why is that?"

"...I'm afraid I may be farther from home than I thought."

* * *

Some time later, Jaune left the headmasters office in a daze. Nearly tripping over his feet on his way out. Ozpin remained seated, staring down at his desk, staring at nothing in particular. He remained that way even when Glynda entered the room.

After what felt an eternity, Ozpin addressed the patient woman.

"Did you hear what our...friend, had to say?"

"I did," Glynda answered. Ah, she'd been posted by the door of course. She hadn't liked the prospect of an 'unknown' sitting across from him. The boy was skilled, certainly, but Glynda worried too much. She always did.

"What did you think of it?" Ozpin asked, knowing her answer.

She scoffed, "He's lying, of course. A city where blood transfusions heal the sickly? Where men turn into some sort of... _wolves_ come night time? Ridiculous."

Ozpin hummed in thought. "Yes, it does sound rather insane, I suppose. Though...it does remind me of a certain fairy tale concerning an old man and four young girls." He sent her a meaningful look.

Glynda waved her hand. "That particular _story_ has been passed down for longer than anyone can remember. This is the first I've heard of such nonsense."

Glynda stared at him. "I do not like that look, headmaster."

"I can only wonder why."

"You do not mean to tell me you actually trust his story?"

"Trust? Such a generous word, Glynda." Ozpin sighed, sipping from his mug, before standing to stare out his window. "No, I certainly do not trust it. Nor him, for that matter. A skilled combatant falls from the proverbial sky onto my lap, who speaks of a blood that heals _any_ ailment?" he shot her a look. "Only the foolish would believe such a story at first glance, and I need not tell you how such a thing would be useful to our friend in the lower levels."

Glynda allowed a sigh of relief to pass through her lips. "Oh, thank goodness. I was almost certain -"

"He will be attending here, however."

"Pardon?"

Ozpin raised an eyebrow, "I thought you were listening in?"

"Once I heard you dismiss his tale, I was certain you'd do the _smart_ thing and send him away."

"It seems you do not know me all that well, then."

"So it seems," Glynda replied, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "...You yourself said you do not trust him. Yet minutes later you _offer_ him a seat at the school. I see a disparity there, headmaster."

"He is a skilled hunter," Ozpin answered. "Did you see how quickly he came unto his aura? And the potency? It knocked our resident champion out cold. Remarkable. We would do well to have him on our side."

"And if he turns out to be a liar? An enemy? What then?"

"...Have you heard the saying, keeps your friends close and your enemies closer? I believe I'd apply that same logic here." Ozpin made a short sound of remembrance. "Did you find the time to look through the records?"

Glynda sighed, seeing the obvious and abrupt topic change. "Of course. I'm no fool. I recognized the name."

Glynda took a moment to look through her scroll.

"Johnathan Arc and Isabella Arc, with several children. However," Glynda raised her eyes to Ozpin's. "All girls. They don't have a son."

"Not due to a lack of trying, it seems." Ozpin muttered. "Interesting, then. That our wayward huntsmen would claim their name. When I asked him of his parents, he responded that his 'transfusion' stripped him of his prior memories."

"A remarkable coincidence," Glynda responded dryly. Ozpin nodded, acquiescent of the implication.

"Should..." Glynda gave him a hesitant look. "Wouldn't it be proper...a test of some sorts? Not to insinuate that Johnathan is unfaithful…but one can never be too sure."

Ozpin closed his eyes, thinking deeply. After a few moments of thought, he gave his answer.

"No. In time, perhaps, but not yet. As of now he is an uncertainty, and it will remain that way until we're more certain of his allegiance."

Ozpin certainly couldn't discount the possibility that he was one of _her_ agents. It wouldn't be the first time she'd placed someone in front him, though this didn't stink of her schemes. It was far too obvious, far too easy. Her work was always far more conniving. A knife between the ribs from someone he trusted, usually. She knew that was what hurt, more than anything.

Though, perhaps she'd predicted his thought process? Few people on the planet knew him better. That too, was a terrifying possibility. What was he to do?

"Treat him as a normal student," Ozpin finally said. "Watch him carefully, of course. If he so much as steps toward our _guest,_ well… " Ozpin trailed off.

"We'll do what we must."

Glynda coughed, while Ozpin sat back down.

"We'll need to place him in a position where he must report to the staff. Leaving him to his devices would be foolish."

"What do you propose?"

"A few things. The first and foremost, however..."

"You've got that look on your face again," Glynda said, exasperated.

Ozpin smiled, "And what sort of look is that?"

"The kind when you're about to do something you know I won't like."

* * *

"...Led by Jaune Arc!"

Jaune turned a baffled, bewildered look towards the man who'd announced something so ridiculous. Him? A leader? That hadn't worked...well, at all, the first time. The failure was so spectacular that the very concept of heading a group of individuals was terrifying. Wasn't this the same man who'd scoffed at him mere hours ago, when he spoke of his home? This man wanted him to lead?

Jaune didn't understand, not in the slightest. It wasn't...uncommon, for hunters to work in pairs. The largest group Jaune had ever seen was comprised of three hunters, in Yahar'gul. The exact reason why hunters usually preferred solitude. A group of blood-drunk hunters were an incredibly difficult challenge. While a solitary hunter, barring special circumstances, could be taken care of without great difficulty.

Then again, this wasn't Yharnam, was it? Nor Yahar'gul. This wasn't anywhere like he'd ever known. The people here did not even know of the old blood. Men did not change into monsters when the sun fell.

Was that a blessing? To be free of the old blood? Of the nightmare?

Jaune turned an eye to his 'team'.

Pyrrha smiled at him, earnestly, with a dash of pride. Her eyes may well have been sparkling. Nora had a similar grin on her face – yet that grin had been etched onto her face the entirety of the short time he'd known her. Even Ren, someone who'd remained stoic for the equally short time he'd known him was sporting a small smile.

Jaune was thankful for his mask. For he couldn't find it within himself to smile back at them.

* * *

 _My heartfelt thanks to those of you that took the time out of your day to read my story. An even bigger thank you to those of you that found it worth critiquing in a review. I'm pleased that people enjoyed my writing, and I hope you continue to enjoy._


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